


wicked boy

by Private_Applesauce



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Werewolf Culture, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Private_Applesauce/pseuds/Private_Applesauce
Summary: Derek knows that Stiles is cruel. He’d known for a long time now. That doesn’t make him want the boy any less. Even if even Peter warns him off the John Stilinski’s kid.(Or that AU where everyone’s and the Hales are in high school; Stiles is crueler than he looks; Scott exists; Isaac really needs help; Jackson is growing conscience; and that Derek Hale is not really as bad as his reputation says about him; Lydia is the only smart person in the whole high school; Erica will always be the Catwoman of our hearts; and Boyd is Boyd.)





	wicked boy

_Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing._

__—_ _ ****Sylvia Plath** **

 

 _Coach Lahey’s been_ _narc_ -ed.

Four words. It only takes those four words to change Beacon Hills High School entirely. Derek thinks he had known the moment Jackson Whittemore barrels unto the hallways and into the boy’s locker room.

He doesn’t flinch, but neither does he acknowledge the boy. Instead he slips into a clean shirt, taking his time. The boy stomps around seemingly looking for him, a few other athletes making way for him. When he spots him, he walks right up to him while Derek keeps his undivided attention unto rolling a used shirt neatly into his bag. Jackson doesn’t seem to get the fact that Derek, does by any reason, want to look at him anymore than he needs to. Footsteps heavy with intent, Lacrosse captain slams his fist to the locker closest to him to get Derek’s attention. Scowling at the boy, he bites back the need to growl at him.

“Coach Lahey’s been __narc__ -ed,” he says grimly locking eyes with him.

Derek blinks. There’s no bleat in his heartbeat, but neither is it even. On the contrary, despite Jackson’s very calm assertive expression his heart is hammering in his chest. Derek knows it’s not a joke, but neither could he catch on as quickly. And then he’s shooting out, a number of those in the locker room following him. He takes one quick look back at Jackson, who nods and mouths, “I’ll get __Isaac__.”

With that, Derek himself launches to the sound of siren outside and the loudest human noise there is.

 

 

 

 

Isaac Lahey’s father gets arrested for drug possession in school. Or so, the rumors said. The heavy weight of discomfort that makes home in Derek’s guts while he watches as Coach Lahey struggle against two deputies holding him down.

Coach Lahey of the swim team screams indignation as the deputies pull him out of his office. He looks around, slight panic crawling up his throat, but Isaac is nowhere. He hopes Jackson got to him first. The students are crowding the hallways as the new Sheriff keeps them at bay. The search in the office had resulted to the discovery of a kilo of cocaine.

It’s not his though, Derek can tell. He couldn’t hear any lie in Coach Lahey’s yells, only plain outrage. But he wasn’t able to tell Kate’s lies, so there was no assurance at that. Stiles, however, smells of anxiety, latex, and something familiar. Derek catches his eyes in the crowd where he stands with Danny, the other boy leaning in to whisper something in Stile’s ear. His whiskey eyes don’t leave Derek’s as he answers Danny in a stage whisper, “I knew he was sick. I just did.” How Derek managed to catch his scent and catalog everything isn’t even a mystery to him. He had memorized every detail available to him about the Stilinski boy.

As far as Derek can tell, Danny and Stiles don’t exactly have interactions with Coach Lahey. The man was a full time coach, and stuck to the swim team most of the time. Danny nods anyway, and disappears into the crowd.

The next thing Derek knows is that the new Sheriff is standing in front of him, arms crossed on his chest. Looking at a point beyond him, Derek looks over his shoulder. Stiles is behind him, staring at the man and Derek’s nose flare at the overwhelming scent of anxiety. “Coach Finstock pulled me a while ago about your absence in Econ,” the Sheriff asks exasperated.

“You’re not my father, Jordan,” Stiles replies, where there is no malice in his tone, there is bite in his words. The Sheriff winces, but patiently responds kindly, “That’s Sheriff to you, Stiles.” Derek turns to the newly elected Sheriff; he is younger than most of his underlings now. Light eyed, and brunette; Derek catalogs the smell of smoke and coal beneath the man’s cologne.

Derek had seen the new Sheriff around town. Once with John when he was still the Sheriff, and then far too many times with Stiles as a deputy. But this is the first time he had gotten close enough with them. There’s attraction for sure, and he can’t blame the Sheriff. He is young, and Stiles is attractive. But there’s a twist in his gut on how it very much was a parallel with him and Kate.

The Sheriff considers him for a second as Stiles steps beside him. “Jordan Parrish,” the Sheriff says, holding out his hand, “I don’t think I’ve met you before—I’m hoping Stiles isn’t that much of a trouble.”

Derek doesn’t blink, instead he stares at the man. It takes a nudge from Stiles for him to accept the man’s hand. Firmly shaking the Sheriff—Jordan’s hand, he figures this was better. Stiles and this guy. But then Jordan’s hand tightens around his, and his eyes flash, “Did you by any chance thought something was up with the Coach?”

Jerking his hand, Derek’s eyes flash electric blue, before quickly glancing over at Stiles. The boy’s eyes are now trained over the mess of the office the Coach left. Then he turns to them, “Nah, Derek does basketball. And I do lacrosse. It’s pretty far from swimming really.” Derek fights off the sudden feeling of warmth claiming his chest at the mention that Stiles cared enough for that.

“And where were you the whole time, Stiles?” Jordan’s voice is suspiciously even and blank. He stares at Stiles in careful assessment. Miss a second, and Stiles could get away with anything. There’s an uptick, Derek hears it but he doubts Jordan can. Everything else goes white noise, as Stiles’s eyes crinkle into a wide smile. “With Derek.”

 _ _Lie__.

Sheriff Jordan stares back at Stiles, and then at Derek. “ _ _Oh__ ,” he says. Derek can hear the disappointment in his voice even without being a werewolf. Derek knows that Mieczysław Stiles Stilinski is cruel. He’d known for a long time now. That doesn’t make him want the boy any less. Even if __even__  Peter warns him off the John Stilinski’s kid. So it shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did.

“His only free period on Thursdays,” Stiles adds. Derek doesn’t know how Stiles knows this. He had spent his free periods in the library, while Stiles had Econ. The rest of the circle of friends they have in common are on all different classes.

Except Boyd.

Before it could all sink in, Lydia’s heels echo in the hallway. Stiles pulls away from him, stepping aside and lets Lydia step in between them, right in front of Jordan. Lips pursed, she puts a hand on her hip and gives the Sheriff a once-over. Derek glances towards the crowd, slowly making way as Jackson follows Lydia’s lead. It had always been pathetic how they were being treated like royalty in this school. But when Lydia speaks, Derek realizes she might actually be royalty.

“So drugs were found in his office, Sheriff, what can you say about that? There are tons of emotionally unstable teenagers that could have clung to drugs given this environment. Has he been preying on teenagers?” There’s a mock gasp there.

“Or worse, the athletes,” Jackson snorts, eyes fleetingly landing on Derek. It’s not a lie but it’s not _entirely_ true.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't think of a better title.


End file.
